Turn On Your Beautiful Eyes
by Schermionie
Summary: 'those laughing eyes they fell in love with: your disguise' :Oliver/Astoria. Freeverse poem.:


Disclaimer: I'm looking through my possessions, but I can't find 'Harry Potter' anywhere.

My inspiration: Carol Ann Duffy's poem _Adultery_. The theme, pacing and certain descriptions in it inspired me to write this. I'm afraid I can't find it online, but if you want to read it, PM me.

Pairing: Oliver/Astoria, with credit to our resident mad hatters, **mew-tsubaki** and **Morghen**.

Thanks to: the splendiferous **tat1312**, who puts up with my first drafts and, as always, knows exactly how to hit nails on their heads.

Notes: I'm not exactly a fan of Duffy's work, but when I was idly flipping through one of my anthologies a few nights ago, I came across _Adultery_. Something about it suddenly struck me, and I knew I had to use it somehow... that somehow being in a freeverse. This is obviously my first attempt at freeverse, and I'm not sure if I even managed it. Ack. I'm scared...

Please view this at either 3/4 or 1/2 alignment. And please review afterwards, because if it's bad, I _want_ to know.

* * *

x-x

Turn on your beautiful eyes.

.:.

See the handsome smile of this famous stranger: and

though the words: 'stranger danger': won't quite let you go

just do it, do it, do it

'til you've done it so much

you know:

to flicker them closed for only a moment -

- darkness -

then: back open when you leave the hotel room with the: flick

of a lightswitch, furtively

because this is the first time you've seen the world: without Draco

.in

years.

and: wide open eyes are a symbol of: guilt.

...

Turn on your beautiful eyes.

.:.

See the world tilt, see his hand on your thigh -

tilt away from you, world,

His broom-roughened

hands

your only

anchor

to this greasy, Muggle restaurant where no

one

will recognise you; though it's greasy enough they'll probably recognise the

paranoia

that anchors you to your chair; and the hand that anchors you there.

then another time back against the wall, faster

- fumbling -

- exploring -

- opening your eyes

yes, yes, yes!

hands can do so many things

just

watch.

...

Turn on your beautiful eyes.

.:.

See the white sheet against your cheek,

that hotel room's

soft pillows disguising how hard your heart is now, when

a new word from your son

fails to delight you as much as

.lies

and

lethal

nights.

bright lights after _that_ sweet darkness

will only blind you;

so look away, and hope they do the same.

...

Turn on your beautiful eyes.

.:.

See your son's face fall when

you panic and shout at him that he can't go to the game,

that Puddlemere United are no good at all

even though you'd spent the afternoon

telling that other man in your life that

they are the best

you've ever seen.

and laugh it off, laugh it off, laugh it all off when

Draco asks you if you're alright

and you can't even look into his eyes.

and laugh it off, laugh it off, laugh it all off

when

he asks you why you've covered all the mirrors -

'cause you can hardly say it's so you don't have to

look

into your own eyes, can you?

and laugh it off

laugh it off

laugh it all off

with those laughing eyes they fell in love with:

your disguise.

...

Turn on your beautiful eyes.

.:.

See the crumbling wedding-cake,

the tell-tale clock putting a timer on your fiction

and your .lies

and thrilling nights.

See the crumbling wedding-cake and the shocked

guests at the wedding where the cake is bit-by-bit crumbling;

in your liar's dreams, still you

feel

- wait, _do_ you feel here anymore? -

_hear_

your husband's unaware breathing in the

marital

bed.

You know all about beds yet here is one you cannot conquer -

a bed of thorns without the roses

accompanied by guilt's two chiming notes:

Draco's sleep-talking and your

choked-up silence when

he dreams he tells his father that he _did_ marry for love

after all

you'd seen him as he was, once,

and you'd loved him, too.

...

Turn on your beautiful eyes.

.:.

See the hurt,

the script you've been following all along:

the stranger's silken web of silken sheets,

the husband's flowers dying, dying,

the son's gradual understanding

that Mummy _means_ it when she says 'G o o d bye':

the truth,

the unravelling,

and the end.

See that thrown a w ay ring,

that moon shining too f ar away to comfort,

you.

Your family

your health

your wealth

your friends,

the one you lost it all for -

See them as they are:

more inconsistent than that moon

and even f u r t her away.

...

You're a tramp.

Everyone can see that now.

...

Close up your ugly eyes.

.:.

In your liar's dreams

this never happened;

and in those dreams it's -only

the -slicing of -innocent -onions

that can -scald you to -tears-.


End file.
